Bang
by calysto-antonsen
Summary: Oneshot. Jake faces the aftermath of the deaths he has seen in his short career in the NSA. Angst, shock, and a mental breakdown ensue. Examines Agent Foley's darker aspects.


It wasn't the fact that she was dead. Hell, it wasn't even because he had killed her. No, the problem was that he simply did not care that he had shot her. Sure, she was a bloodthirsty assassin who decided to rush him with a knife. Sure, she had killed several people already. But pulling the trigger and watching her eyes widen with that ridiculous expression of incredulousness, and then watching her fall as the red oozed from the hole blasted right in the exact centre of her forehead should have invoked at least some emotion other than apathy…and fear. Fear because…Jake Foley had found the action as natural as breathing.

Even Warner, the cruel and coldhearted Director felt something. He could tell. Whenever she ordered the death of someone her eyes would glaze slightly and her pulse would hitch. And no one but him could or would ever be able to notice.

And Lou…her breath had this tiny indrawn gasp that no one but Jake could hear when there was a shoot to kill order. It didn't matter who it was, how much wrong they had done. She always took that extra breath.

Everyone had a sign. A slight dilation of the pupils here, an unconscious tension in the neck there. Everyone felt something. Except Jake. And that scared him to death.

He remembered back to when they first took his x-ray. Before he had become an agent, and they had referred to the nanites as an element of a futuristic super soldier. Hooah. No, it wasn't pleasant to think of that either. When he shot Kyle. It had been the same thing. He had had no trouble with the actual shooting. It was what he thought Kyle would think afterwards. But there had been no remorse. No fear. No hesitation. Nothing. He wasn't changing. Somewhere inside him Jake had always been capable of being an efficient killer.

"Oh God."

Everyone was supposed to have some part of themselves that needed to be kept secret at all times. A dark side to humanity. The warlike nature that resides inside every species. But also everyone was supposed to have some form of human compassion. That there was some kind of resounding shock every time a human being had to deal with death.

"What the hell am I?"

As a so called super soldier was Jake even still human? And if so was it by birth, (physiology was definitely out. He was the only one with nanite enhancements, so that was one difference), or by feelings for other people? Like Diane. He cared for her. He would probably be sad or angry if she died. But if he had to kill her? Would Jake Foley hesitate? Or would Agent Foley tighten his lips in impassionate determination and pull the trigger? Who would he be? The man or the killer? And the next time Jerry visited…what then?

"There doesn't seem to be any reason for Agent Foley's recent depression. He seems to be in some sort of denial about the death of that girl from the Shinji assassination Yakuza squad."

"I don't understand it. Most agents get over that sort of thing by now. They shouldn't be dwelling on something as routine as procedure for this long. Lou, he needs help."

"Then why don't you go try and provide it? You are his direct superior, Kyle."

Someone was knocking at the door. As if the constant stench of spiced salamis wasn't bad enough, no there was an insistent dull thudding coming from the vicinity of the door. Why couldn't he be left alone? Who would he be this time?

"Go away."

The acknowledgement that there was someone actually at the door was mumbled at best. So the knocking, of course, persisted.

"I'm not here."

A little louder this time. The intruder must have heard because they stopped that awful noise. If only they would stop the salami smell as well.

"Jake, open up."

Kyle. He couldn't deal with him. Not right now. He had shot him once. And he was still being tortured, no torturing himself, about the possibility that he could, and would, do it again without so much as a wince. No twitch of the eyelids, no increase in heart rate. No grief. No hesitation. The only regret would be having none.

"Please, Kyle. Go away."

He perceived a sigh from his superior. He could almost picture his dark skinned friend rolling his grey-green eyes in frustration…or even reluctance. And then watching those same eyes widen, the brows raised, then furrowed in confusion as the green darkened to a cement like hue. The mouth falling open and the blood trickling between the eyes and running down the side of the nose like tears…

"Oh, God."

He sat up from where he had draped himself over the couch, rustling the newspaper he had been using as a pillow. Now doubt the headline had left a mirror image imprint of his cheek. He looked at the paper. Boy is murdered, suspects unknown. The word 'murdered' had a particularly ominous faded look, and a glance at his reflection in the window confirmed his suspicion. MURDER spelled itself in a macabre reverse down the side of his face and he smiled sadly at the irony.

"Jake-"

"Kyle, please go."

"Jake look," Kyle almost whined. Almost.

The soft whirr ka thud noise of the door being unlocked and Kyle found himself face to face with Jake Foley. But not the one he was used to seeing. The happy go lucky, eager to please kid was replaced by a sullen, grief stricken, broken professional with crinkled newspaper imprints on the side of his face.

He looked at Kyle. Looked at him and tried so hard not to see the vision of blood seeping through his suit and a still smoking gun pointed upwards. Tried not to see blank dead eyes that weren't there, or feel himself smile in grim satisfaction of a job well done.

"Kyle. You need to go. Please."

The last word carried with it so much weight and grief and horror and desperation with it that the older man took an involuntary step back.

"Jake. I'm here to help."

"You're making it worse."

"How?"

"I…"

"Yes?"

"I could do it again."

"What?"

"I would do it again."

"Jake? What do you mean?"

The sullen figure before him suddenly burst out in a round of giggles that carried with them no emotion or humor. It was just a noise. Jake raised a shaky finger and pointed at Kyle still giggling. It was odd how he could laugh and frown at the same time.

"Bang!"

He stopped laughing and tapped Kyle on the lapel of his suit.

"You're dead," he whispered. And then he collapsed, twitching his fingers and muttering.

"What the hell am I?"


End file.
